It was agreed that we would be immortals,
if only for the day, if only for
an hour or two. Or three—that’s one pitfall
of losing one’s watch: the amnesiac stupor
that, fishlike, floating, laughs at gravity.
You watched as ripples wobbled about my waist,
said something about the sea—I seemed
at home in her, you said—but somehow it failed
to be original. I laughed and so
did you, sand cradling your sunburnt feet,
your camera kissing me into a photo:
the sound of us laughing somewhere in Crete.
The camera knew, I think, about it all,
about the joke, about the fear, the fall.
—Published 5th of February 2023
About Evita Arakelian
Evita Arakelian has obtained her Bachelor of Music degree from the University of Tehran, and is currently a student of English and Creative Writing in the University of London and the Open University.